Unbeweaveable (14 page)

“Are you feeling better?” she asked finally.

I nodded. “I have an ulcer. Sometimes I get a little nauseated.”

“Maybe you need to get that checked out.”

I waved my hand and stood up. I walked to the sink and rinsed out my mouth with water. “I'll be fine.”

She followed me to the sink and we both looked at ourselves in the mirror. Renee was beautiful with her brown eyes with flecks of green, her long, wavy brown hair and her light skin with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks. And I was the complete opposite. But did being opposite of her mean that I was ugly? Why did I think long hair and light skin meant beautiful?

Renee put her hand on my shoulder. “You weren't the best sister to me. But maybe now that you're home, you can make it up to me.”

Home
. Was I home? I didn't know. But I turned to my sister and gave her the tightest hug I could muster, hoping she felt the love I was giving her in my arms as I felt the forgiveness she was giving me in hers.

William Knight

I think losing my job can give me a second chance. At loving Renee more and forgiving my mother for the small things that she's done to me in the past. So what if she didn't take me shopping with her, or trips to the spa? Who was the one who sat with me and helped me paint all those Styrofoam balls to resemble planets? Beverly. Who helped me study all those words so I could win District XI spelling bee? Beverly. And who was the one who paid for the tutor so my SATs were a breeze for me? Beverly. Beverly ensured that I would have the best education possible. Yes, she was upset that I didn't accept going to Yale, but she got over it and never made me feel bad about it. I could do better by her.

I closed my journal and slipped it under a dish towel when I saw Renee walk into the kitchen.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” she said. “You're dressed and ready? Wow.”

“I know. I didn't want another day of someone knocking on my bedroom door.”

“You excited about seeing Grandpa?”

“I am.”

“You're not fooling anybody, you know. I saw you writing. Why would you try to hide it?”

I pulled my journal from underneath the blue dish towel. “I don't know. I feel sort of silly still writing in a journal.”

“That was your thing when we were growing up. That and reading, of course. You couldn't keep your nose out of a book back then.”

I nodded and drank a sip of my coffee.

“I'm starting to know why you didn't call me, but why didn't you ever check up on Grandpa? He really missed you.”

I sighed. The whole time I'd been in Houston, all I'd learned was how messed up I was. How I'm such a bad person. It's bad enough being a bad sister, but I didn't need any more reminders of why I was a bad granddaughter, too.

“I know I've messed up with you guys. I should have been there. I had my priorities all mixed up—”

“You didn't even have us
as
a priority.”

“I'm sorry. I'm really trying here, Renee. Cut me some slack.”

She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it. “I'm going to get ready. I'll be out in a couple of minutes.”

When she left I opened my journal and wrote:

How many times can a person say they're sorry for it to be true? A hundred times? A thousand?
Is that the lesson that I'm learning? To learn to apologize? Well, I've learned it. I'm sick of doing it. I never claimed to be perfect. I know I let a lot of people down. Problem is, I never knew they were depending on me in the first place.

* * *

Oak Forest Nursing Home was in the Woodlands, a suburban city on the outskirts of Houston. It looked like a Spanish estate with its stucco walls and its red Spanish tiled roof and expansive rolling grounds. We walked into the two-story foyer, and I gazed up at the wrought-iron chandeliers and stone floor and felt like I was in a mansion, not a nursing home. Renee nodded at the woman sitting at an oak table and let her know that we were here to see William Knight.

“Of course,” she said. “Would you like to visit him in his room?”

“Yes. Then we'll take him for a walk around the grounds.”

“Nice morning for it. He would love that.” She pointed down the hall and I followed Renee to his room.

William Knight, better known as Grandpa, was always smart; his mind was clear as fresh spring water. I hoped he would be the same way as I saw him several years ago; it would be heartbreaking to see him without all his mental faculties. Renee knocked on his door and I heard his gruff voice. “Come in,” he said.

We entered the room and found Grandpa hunched over a desk. Wood shavings lay around his feet as he whittled a piece of wood into what I was sure would be some kind of animal. Several of his wood creatures were around his room, shiny and bright with paint. Morning sun filled his room and glinted off his mahogany-stained furniture. He looked up at us and smiled, his teeth artificially perfect. His hair was white, which spoke of his seventy years, but still full. His light skin was touched with hints of grey, and I felt my heart sting me.
I should have visited more often.

“Cotton Ball?” he asked, standing. His back was bent at the shoulders, like he was carrying something heavy. The curlicues of wood fell to the floor as he walked to me.

“Yes,” I replied, going toward him and reaching out for a hug. I always felt more secure at my grandparents' house; their love was given in large doses and I felt full, not starving with the crumbs that my mother doled out. In his arms I felt safe and protected. He smelled the same, like wood and clean soap.

“It's good to see you, Cotton Ball,” he said, his hands on my face. “You look so pretty with that short hair, like a model.”

I reached up to smooth my hair, feeling self- conscious.

“Thanks.”

“My goodness, you sure did turn out to be a looker.”

Was I? I smiled at his kindness; he always knew how to make a woman feel good. That's probably how he charmed his wife, Porsche. He'd told me the story millions of times, of how he saw her walking the hallways at high school and knew with a certainty that she was going to be his wife. And he didn't hesitate to tell her so. She laughed at him, not taking him seriously, but every day he would be waiting for her after school to walk her home. Their love blossomed and grew as the dirt road they walked on became paved, and the seasons changed. They were married the next year, and she got pregnant shortly after with their first child. That child was stillborn, and so were three others. Porsche had several miscarriages, and thought she would never have children. Finally, in her twenty-eighth year of life she gave birth to Beverly, her one and only child. I knew he missed his wife terribly—Porsche died years ago from complications from diabetes—but a day didn't pass when she wasn't thought of.

He walked over to Renee and hugged her with as much warmth as he'd given me, and turned to look at me again.

“So what brings you to Houston? And don't say you came all the way down here to visit me. Grandpa can always tell when you're lying.”

“I live here. For now, anyway,” I added.

“You don't say? Why?”

“Well—”

“She got tired of the cold weather in New York. Wanted to come back to Houston where the weather is warmer.” Renee winked at me, and I was thankful for her rescuing me.

“Well, I never could stand cold weather. That makes sense, Cotton Ball.”

“Grandpa, you want to talk a walk outside for a little while?” Renee asked.

“That would be nice,” he said, shuffling in between us. He stood in the middle of us, and we hooked our arms through his. “Let's go, ladies. Boy, all the fellas here are sure going to be jealous of me walking around with two models on my arms. Wait until they get a load of this!”

We laughed and walked slowly out of his room, with him stopping every few seconds, introducing me to everyone. I felt special.

We finally got outside and sat on a bench near the entrance, watching the morning breeze go through the tops of trees, making them dance.

“This is nice,” I said after a few minutes of silence.

“Sure is. Porsche used to love to sit outside all the time on the porch. Didn't matter if it was too hot or not, she just wanted to sit outside. Said she had to get the ceiling off her head.”

“Same with Mama. She likes to get outside a lot, too,” Renee said.

“Yeah, back in the day we had trouble keeping your Mama
inside
the house. Always was too busy outside chasing boys.” He shook his head. “Me and Porsche tried to get that girl to calm down, but she thought she knew better than us. Even after the divorce she kept on with the boys. Or men, I should say. Paul tried to hold out hope for her, but when she married Anthony I think that was the final straw. He tried for years to win her back—”

My stomach quivered. “Grandpa, how could Paul try to win her back? He died before Beverly remarried.”

He turned away.

“Didn't he, Grandpa?”

“I'm getting tired. I think I want to go back to my room now.”

“Grandpa—”

“Mariah, that's enough. He's tired.” Renee stood and helped Grandpa up. “You coming?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah.” I stood and laced my arm through his and we walked back to his room. His gait seemed weaker now; his body was hunched over so much, I think all he could see was his shoes. Renee kept throwing me dirty looks, but I ignored her, intent on getting Grandpa to his room to ask him more questions.

We got to his room and sat him back down in his chair, and he picked up his knife and piece of wood and started whittling away, just as he had when we first came.

“Grandpa—”

“You girls can come back this weekend if you want. Saturday. And come alone. I don't want your Mama coming, messing things up.”

“And then you'll tell me? Tell me about my father?”

He paused for a moment, and then continued shaving away wood. “Come back Saturday, baby.”

“Grandpa…”

“Saturday,” he yelled, then started coughing. When I approached, he put his hand up to signal he was all right. After a moment, he stopped coughing. “Come back Saturday. It's time,” he mumbled. Although he could have said, “About time,” or “I have the time,” I wasn't sure. I nodded and gave him a hug and we left.

I could feel Renee's anger before I even asked her what's wrong.

“You just came over here to ask him questions.”

“No, I didn't. I really missed him.”

“Yeah, right. That's why you called him all the time and came down to visit every blue moon. Boy, sure sounds like you missed him.”

“Well, I did. And I didn't even have to ask him anything; he slipped up with the whole Paul thing—”

“Slipped up? You act like everyone's keeping secrets from you. He's seventy years old, Mariah. His memory isn't exactly what it used to be.”

“It seems crystal clear to me.”

“You're using him. You don't care anything about him—”

“Don't go there, Mariah. I love that man. I just need to know the truth.”

“You
do
know the truth. You just don't want to believe it. Your father died—”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, come on! So now you're thinking he's alive? Gimme a break, Mariah, even Mama couldn't pull that one. Please tell me that's not what you're thinking.”

I didn't answer.

She rolled her eyes at me. “I can't believe that she would lie about something like that. Not Mama. She wouldn't have made that up.”

“Well, something's not right. You can feel it, too, can't you? That's why you're so upset.”

“I'm not upset. But if I was, it would be because you keep making this thing an issue.”

“It is.”

“Drop it, Mariah!”

“No!”

We stood in the parking lot, a few feet from her car, both of us in a stare-down that neither of us wanted to lose. Finally, she looked down. “If Mama is lying about this, Mariah, you're not the only one who loses. I lose, too.”

“I'm sorry. But you need to understand that I have to do this. For me.”

“That's all you ever did care about. Fine. Keep digging. If Paul is still alive, he won't be a
dead
father, he'll be a
bad
father for not being there for you all these years. Do you really want that?”

My pace slowed. I hadn't thought of that. If Paul was alive, why wouldn't he have tried to contact me? This idea was crazy. The more I thought about it, about the more I wanted to dismiss it, but I couldn't. Could Beverly have lied all these years? Could there be a man out there with the same blood as mine in his veins?

“I don't know, but I'm ready to find out.”

Answers

It seemed like Saturday would never come, but finally it dragged itself here. I was up early that day and showered and dressed as if it was an Olympic sport. I still would have lost the gold medal because Renee and Beverly were already in the kitchen eating. It seemed the kitchen was where we always met, and so I often tried to stay in my room.

“Good morning,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

“I made your plate already. It's on the counter. You might have to heat it up,” Renee said.

I thanked her and slid the plate of eggs, bacon, and grits into the microwave. Beverly had yet to acknowledge my presence. She was too engrossed in the newspaper to even look up. If she wanted to play that game, that was fine by me. I was not going to kiss her butt to get a response. When I was younger, I spoke to her first. I used to wrap myself around her legs so she couldn't walk, just so she would look at me. Not anymore. If she wanted to talk, she knew where I was.

I took the hot plate out of the microwave and sat at the small table in the breakfast nook. I saw Renee nudge Beverly, but she wouldn't look up.

“Renee, are we still going today?”

“Going? Going where?”

“To the store. Remember?” We both agreed that we wouldn't mention going to Grandpa's so Beverly wouldn't try to tag along.

She looked at Beverly and then looked back at me. “Mama wants to go too,” she said, so low I had to strain to hear her. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say she was sorry and then slid off the stool she was sitting on.

“I'm going to finish getting ready. I'll be back in five minutes.”

Without Renee in the room, the silence was even more deafening. Every scrape my fork made across my plate was magnified, and the snap of Beverly's newspaper sounded like a thousand drums.

“I need to keep an eye on you,” she said. I couldn't see her face, it was hiding behind an advertisement for Macy's “Red Apple” sale, but her tone told me plenty. Told me that I wasn't wanted, wasn't needed. Told me to stop stirring up mess.

“Why? What are you afraid of, Mama?” I got her attention then as the newspaper crept down her face, revealing her icy eyes.

“I'm not afraid of anything, I just don't want you making my
father
upset,” she said, the word “father” especially hurtful because I didn't have one.

“
Your
father won't be upset. But I think I have every right to visit
my
grandfather.”

“Of course you can visit him. He just tires easily, and a lot of questions wear him out.”

She smiled at me then, and walked over to me at the breakfast table. She ran her fingers through her soft hair and then reached out to touch my shoulder, stopped, then finally rested her hand on top of mine. After a few moments she removed her hand.

“I had hoped that we could get along.”

“So did I.”

“Why? Why do you think it's so hard for us?”

Because you don't love me enough
. It was on the tip of my tongue, like a lyric from a song that had been forgotten then remembered. I wanted to blurt it out, but couldn't—I couldn't tell her why we would never get along. Instead I replied with an “I don't know.”

“Well, Renee and I have such a wonderful relationship. I want the same for you. But it's different with us. We had it rocky from the start, as if it wasn't meant for me to be your mother. I look at you and I'm haunted by bad memories, by nightmares. It's hard,” she said, looking away from me.

“I'm sorry,” I said, apologizing again for something that was not my fault.

She stood. “I am trying, Mariah. I know you may not feel it, but I'm trying to be better. Just remember how hard I had it with you, how you make me feel. Try to be a little compassionate, okay?”

I simply nodded, and she left the room. The knot in my throat expanded and I cried silent tears into my breakfast.

* * *

The drive to the nursing home was about as comfortable as sitting on a chair of needles.

Finally, we were out of the car and headed upstairs to Grandpa's room.

“Come in,” he said from behind his thick oak door.

Beverly blew out a ragged breath as she fingered the pearl necklace at her throat.
She is nervous
, I thought.
Why?

We walked into the room to see Grandpa seated in a chair near the window, looking out. He stood and hugged Renee and I, then looked at Beverly for a long time. Finally, he patted her on the shoulder.

“Good to see you, Beverly.”

“And you, too, Daddy.”

“What brings you by today?”

“I have to have a reason to visit my father?”

“For you? Yes.”

She grimaced and then smiled. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I'm sure Renee keeps you abreast of everything that goes on with me. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to my two girls.”

“Daddy, are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Why don't you walk around and get some air? I'll be out in a minute,” he said, waving her off.

Her eyes glanced in my direction and I knew I would be blamed for her early dismissal. She turned on her heel and left.

“Well, come on, girls, sit down,” he said, pointing to a pair of wingback chairs in the corner across from his bed. “Now tell me, young lady, why is it that you haven't kept in touch?” he asked, his light brown eyes looking in my direction.

“I'm sorry, Grandpa—”

“I know you're sorry. What I want to know is what or who could have kept you so busy in New York that you couldn't come down and visit an old man?”

“I should have done better,” I said, my voice low from the guilt I was feeling. I felt bad that I hadn't done better by him, worse still that I used to be his favorite. I doubted that now with Renee's weekly visits. Grandpa used to be all mine, and now I had lost him to Renee.

“Well, when you know better, do better. I hope you'll be back in Houston for good?”

“I don't know.”

“Let's hope that you do. I didn't like you being in New York all by yourself.” He saw me open my mouth to protest and he put his hand up, stopping me. “I'm not saying that you're not a grown woman, but I still worry about you. And that won't ever go away.”

“I'm glad.”

“You and your mother getting along better?”

I looked at Renee and hesitated.

“Once you cross that door there are no secrets in this room, Mariah. Renee's a big girl, and it's a simple question.”

“No, we aren't getting along. I think it's because of what happened—when she was younger? I need to know what
really
happened.”

“About Paul.”

“Yes,” I said. “I found the divorce papers. All these years Beverly hasn't mentioned anything about a divorce, so why hide it? Why didn't she tell me that they were divorced?”

His silver eyebrow went up when I said “divorce,” but otherwise he sat and stared at me, waiting for me to continue.

“I've always felt that the reason she treated me so differently was because of how Daddy died, and how he treated her. I know I look like him and remind her all the time of what she lost—”

“This is ridiculous, Mariah,” Renee said. “Why are you out here hounding him about something that happened years ago?”

“Because I think he's still alive. My father. A real man out there that could love me instead of the ghost I've imagined all these years. Is that why you asked me to come back today? I need to know, Grandpa. I need to know if it's true. Is he alive?”

He looked at me so long, I didn't think he would answer, but he finally found his voice. “Have you ever seen your mama dance?”

I nodded.

“She looked like an angel when she danced. I knew she was going somewhere with her life. I used to complain about the expense for all her dance stuff, but when I saw her dance, I got chills all over me. Beverly was the prettiest little thing that me and Porsche could hope for. And she knew it, too, always flaunting her long hair and those pretty eyes. Problem was she wasn't the only one who thought she was pretty; I had to fight off all kinds little boys after a piece of your mama. But one boy stole her heart. Paul Stevens, your father. They snuck and got married a couple of days before her graduation. I couldn't believe it when she told us. Moved to Memphis to stay with him and his mama—that's where your Daddy is from. Porsche almost fainted with shock, her baby girl—a wife. Then to top it all off, three months later we hear she's pregnant. Porsche was happy, she was like that, could let things go in an instant. I couldn't. I was still too disappointed that your mama didn't go to dance school like we always planned. And then with a baby on the way, she would never go back. I stopped speaking to her after that. I never liked your father. I couldn't stand the way he took away Beverly's dream. She was too young for marriage. Marriage is hard enough on two mature adults. But two kids? And with a baby? They didn't stand a chance. She came to her senses and got that divorce.”

“Did you make her?”

“Beverly was grown. She told me so all the time. No, I didn't make her get a divorce, but I did let her know what kind of man she fell in love with. She made the decision to leave all by herself, and I was happy that she did.”

“Was there an accident, Grandpa? Is that how my father died?”

He sighed. “There was an accident. But other than a few scrapes and bruises your father came out fine.”

“Is he still alive?”

As if on cue my mother burst in the room. “We're leaving,” she said. She went up to Grandpa and said something in his ears that made him sink from shame.

“You started this,” she said.

“I'm trying to fix it—”

“Like you did back then? You trying to turn my kids against me, when all of this is your fault in the first place. I'm warning you, Daddy, stay out of my life—”

“Why won't you let me help? I just want to help…”

“You've done enough helping. Get up,” she said to me, her voice dangerous.

I ignored her, and knelt down in front of him. “Finish telling me.”

“Get
up
, Mariah,” Beverly said, pulling on my elbow to raise me from the floor. She was surprisingly strong, and I had to struggle to stay kneeling as I waved her off.

“Tell me, Grandpa,
please
, I need to know. Tell me the truth.”

Unshed tears danced in his eyes as he looked up at Beverly, and then back to me.

“I'm sorry, Cotton Ball. Your Mama's right. Maybe it is time for you to go.”

“Why?” I said, standing, my hands tight fists balled at my sides. “Why are you
doing
this?” I asked, my face inches from my mother's.

“You better back up,” she said. Her voice was strong, but her bottom lip quivered.

Renee pulled me back. “Not here,” she said.

She walked over and gave Grandpa a hug, and I followed suit. He held me so tight it forced the tears that were at the brink to come forward. “You're a smart girl,” he said. “And you'll find the answers. And when you do, I'll be here. I'll always be here, okay?”

I nodded and pulled away from him reluctantly.